One Hand Wonder
by CHSPatriot09
Summary: I actually wrote this as a joke. It was meant to stay between my friend and I, but I'll post it anyway because I haven't posted anything in a REALLY long time. Basically...Harry's masturbating. Kinda funny, rated M, really short. Enjoy :P


One-Hand Wonder

Harry lay silently in his four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling. The curtains hung closed around him. The seemingly solid wall of scarlet isolated him, and he felt quite alone as he mulled over the day's events despite the fact that he could hear Ron snoring just ten feet away. Inevitably, guiltily, his thoughts turned to Ginny.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the shadowy sixth year boy's dormitory. Immediately, in his mind's eye, he saw her lithe little body wrapped around Dean's. Dean's hands fisted Ginny's red hair – Harry longed to feel its softness running though his own fingers. Dean's mouth was glued to Ginny's, and it looked to Harry as though he was trying to swallow her face whole. Harry longed to kiss Ginny slowly, languidly, lovingly, the way she deserved to be kissed.

And then the vision changed. Dean had gone, and Ginny was in a different place, and Harry was there with her, fulfilling his dream of kissing her. And, as he kissed her, they didn't stop, and – where the hell did that bed come from? This fantasy, Harry realized dimly, was getting wildly out of control, but he found himself not caring even the slightest bit. Even as he remembered that Ron was sleeping in the bed just next to his, Harry reached down under the covers and released the stiffness of his erection from the confines of his underwear.

He held himself gently, stroking himself slowly as his fantasy continued. He and Ginny were kissing in his bed, in the middle of the night, and the room was dark aside from the strip of magical moonlight streaming in through the open curtains, which served to illuminate her face when he broke the kiss and looked down at her, into her beautiful liquid brown eyes.

"I love you," his fantasy self murmured, and Harry stroked himself, lightly still.

"Make love to me, Harry," Ginny whispered, quietly. Harry wasn't sure whether, in his fantasy, there were others in the room or not. But, he decided, it didn't really matter. He was with Ginny, the most absolutely perfect human being on the entire planet, and she had just asked him to make love to her.

No, he corrected himself in his head. Not _asked_. She had _told_ him to make love to her. Then and there Harry decided to make it his mission to grant Ginny's every wish and to make her every dream come true.

In the fantasy, Ginny was ridding Harry of his clothing, and then he was undressing her as well, pulling off her skirt and running his fingertips over her virginally white underwear.

Harry stroked himself faster, applying more pressure. God, this was surely going to kill him. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and clamped his teeth together, struggling to remain quiet.

His fantasy had a mind of its own now; it was completely out of his control. In it, Ginny was wrapping her small, soft hands around his embarrassingly prominent erection, and then – God help him – she was closing her wet, hot mouth around the tip of him, suckling gently and running her tongue over his burning hot flesh.

As if from the opposite end of a long tunnel, Harry heard himself groan quietly, and closed his lips once more against the sensations that were overwhelming him now. He licked his lips, panting slightly, and felt every muscle in his body contract as his release wracked his body, causing every last nerve ending to tingle.

He was jarred back to reality when he felt hot liquid spill over his hands, and he sat up too quickly, causing his head to spin as if his brains had been permanently addled by his orgasm. He wrenched open the curtains near the head of his bed, and reached over to his bedside table, grabbing a handful of tissue. He felt himself blushing furiously as he mopped the wetness off of his sheets and skin. Sweat still ran over the back of his neck, dampening his hair.

Harry tossed the soiled tissues into the trash beside his bed, and fell back into his pillows, working hard to even out his breathing. His chest was still heaving, his mind was still racing, and he couldn't get the image of Ginny's silky red hair falling over his hips and thighs out of his head.

He groaned…

…just a bit too loudly.

"Harry?" he heard Ron say sleepily.

Harry scrunched his eyes shut, pushing his hands through his hair, not trusting his voice. He just mumbled, "Huh?"

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron asked.

He sounded genuinely concerned, and it made Harry feel just a little guilty for having just masturbated to a lewd fantasy about his best friend's slightly younger sister.

"Are you feeling sick or something?" Ron continued, when Harry didn't answer his first question.

Harry cleared his throat and forced his rusty vocal chords to work properly.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm fine. Just, uh…I had a bad dream."

"Oh," Ron said, and Harry could hear the frown in his voice. "Did you, um, want me to get you a glass of water or something?"

Harry's heart lurched.

_How could you be breaking his trust this way?_ a little angel asked, appearing on Harry's left shoulder.

Harry could see her point. Ron _was _his best friend. It had to be against some sort of unspoken rule to pleasure himself while thinking of his best friend's sister.

A little devil appeared on Harry's right shoulder. _But it felt so good. And Ginny _is_ exceptionally beautiful…_

That was true, Harry conceded. There was no possible way to deny either of those things. But still…

_No,_ the little devil said. And then his voice dropped to a whisper that sounded more like a hiss. _He can never know. You must lie. Lie._

"No," Harry said finally. "Thanks, though. G'night, Ron."

"Yeah," Ron said, and Harry heard him lie back down. "Sleep well, Harry."

Harry heard his snores less than a minute later, and frowned to himself. He had never lied to Ron before, and doing so had left a hollow, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Or maybe that orgasm had just been _extremely_ good…

Harry lay back against his pillows, still frowning deeply. He couldn't seem to get Ginny out of his head… But she was with Dean, he told himself. And she seemed happy.

_This was a one-time thing,_ he told himself. _You can never let that happen again, and no one can ever know._

And he fell into an uneasy sleep, tossing and turning. Because he knew that, not only had he just lied to Ron, but now he was lying to himself. He would never be able to give up his feelings for Ginny, and – despite putting forth his best efforts, which he would most certainly do – that fantasy was not going to be the last that he had about Ginny. He was certain that, until he was able to kiss her for real, to touch her, to lose himself in her completely, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from pretending every chance he got.

He had a feeling that he was going to need to buy some lotion on their next trip to Hogsmeade.


End file.
